


What We've Learned

by ostentatiouslyrealistic



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Mathematics, Studying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 18:21:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29406141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ostentatiouslyrealistic/pseuds/ostentatiouslyrealistic
Summary: This is aterribleidea.It’s already bad enough he’s barely passing math class.It’s worse when his teacher had decided—in a last minute, desperate bid of action—to assign his underclassman as his temporary tutor.--Semi struggles with math, and Shirabu tries to help.
Relationships: Semi Eita/Shirabu Kenjirou
Kudos: 38





	What We've Learned

This is a _terrible_ idea.

It’s already bad enough he’s barely passing math class. 

It’s worse when his teacher had decided—in a last minute, desperate bid of action—to assign his underclassman as his temporary tutor. 

“This is pointless,” Semi gripes, throwing down his pencil. It streaks a line of graphite across his name before clattering lightly onto the table. Carding a hand through his hair, he exhales sharply and glares at the offending problems printed in his workbook. As if mocking him, the markings glide across his vision in a wild tangle of numbers and letters until they resemble nothing more than a jumble of incoherent squiggles. 

He’s almost offended at how many letters scatter across the page. Math is already bad enough; adding letters is just cruel and unusual punishment. Especially when there seems to be more English letters in math than there are in his actual English class.

“It won’t be pointless when you’re holding your diploma,” Shirabu responds with that characteristic monotone that rubs salt into Semi’s already-wounded pride. He slips out of his chair and shuffles around to glance over Semi’s shoulder. 

“Besides, I don’t think you’re completely hopeless. You’ve got your derivatives down,” he says. The quirk in his brow means he’s somewhat impressed with Semi’s efforts. It should send a streak of satisfaction running through him, but the idea of an underclassman tutoring him only sours the emotion. 

The move is petulant—he knows, but he can’t help it when he slides down his chair until the back of his neck hits the top of his chair. With a groan, he covers his face and begins to pull down his hands, muttering a muffled, “Why you?”

Shirabu throws him an exasperated look and taps a rolled piece of paper against the back of his head. Semi swats at it indignantly. “It’s not like I want to be here either. I’ve got better things to do than help you with calculus.” 

“No, I mean. Why you? Why not Reon? Why not another third-year?” 

Shirabu purses his lips to the side and pulls up a falling sleeve. “They're all prepping for university exams. _You_ , on the other hand, are barely passing math. Besides, Taichi is also tutoring.”

“Taichi? Our Taichi? Kawanishi Taichi?” Semi pulls himself back up, brows rising at the thought of their 'barest minimum' middle blocker actively teaching some poor third-year sucker. At that, his mind redirects the thought onto himself, politely reminding him that he's also a poor third-year sucker.

Shirabu shrugs in agreement, then uses the roll of paper to point at the workbook. “Look, that one isn't difficult. It's just moving the seven down to multiply with the two, which is... ” He pauses, expecting an answer. 

“Fourteen. I'm barely passing math. I'm not incompetent,” he snaps. Shirabu ignores him, but the sharp exhale indicates his frustration.

“Ok, fourteen, and what happens to the variable?” 

With a harsh growl, Semi snatches the pencil off of the table and scribbles the answer into his workbook. Then, he throws a glare at Shirabu, who runs a hand through his hair, scrambling his asymmetrical bangs to the side.

“Look, do you want my help or not?” Even though Shirabu's mastered the art of stoicism, Semi's worked with him enough to hear the slight hurt that tinges his tone.

“Sorry,” Semi sighs. “Sorry.” The second time is more sincere, and he feels a twinge of guilt flutter to life in his chest. 

It's not Shirabu's fault that they're partnered together—that blame goes to his teacher, who couldn't care less about sports, unaware of Semi's turbulent emotions after being replaced in his final year. It's definitely not his fault that Semi is shit at math. “I just… hate this,” he mutters, glaring daggers at the workbook problems. 

Shirabu taps the back of his head lightly with the rolled sheet. It's a small act of forgiveness—he knows especially after his underclassman offers; “And I hate history.” Shirabu pauses, then adds as an afterthought, “And whenever coach makes us run outside.” 

His underclassman doesn't have much of a funny bone in him, but this cracks a smile on Semi's lips. Shirabu returns it with his own awkward smile before turning back to the workbook, lips pursing in concentration. Then, he flips open the textbook to the corresponding chapter.

While doing so, Semi stares wistfully out the window, watching the baseball team run laps on the field. It's a beautiful day, sun streaking through the windows and the wind slipping through the foliage above. The trees cast dancing shadows against the dirt, and the sound of laughter rings like wind chimes. 

It's no wonder he's bitter at being stuck indoors with his least favorite subject and two chapters to finish.

“Hey, are you listening?” Something hits his hair, falling to slap at his forehead. “Have you heard anything I've said?” Shirabu asks.

“What are you hitting me with?” Semi's face pinches unattractively. He twists in his seat and snatches the roll of paper out of Shirabu’s hand. Shirabu makes a futile grab for it, and though he's on the starter team, he's not as fast as Semi's reflexes. His tutor’s face scrunches with indignation, but Semi can’t bother to care. He unrolls it and narrows his eyes, squinting hard until realization hits and he gapes incredulously at the sheet of paper. 

Stares at the almost-incomprehensible chicken scratch. The crappy doodle of a volleyball on the left margin. The red ink that checks off poorly chosen, incorrect answers. The incredibly familiar twenty-three that marks the top of the page. 

“Where did you—why do you have this?” he splutters. His underclassman has the courtesy to look apologetic, rubbing the backs of his hands as if preparing for his next match at nationals. The twenty-three glares at him with bright, red ink, and he’s torn whether to tear it into scraps or shove it into his backpack as a last ditch effort to save his pride. 

“Your teacher gave that to me,” Shirabu says, and it’s like someone has pressed mute on him. Semi can barely hear him.

“Right,” he croaks—the word is barely audible—after a stunned moment of silence. He's not sure what to say after and mindlessly hands it back to Shirabu, who rolls it a bit too hard, and the page crinkles under the pressure. Saying his pride is wounded would be an understatement.

Shirabu bites the bottom of his lip in discomfort but trudges on by pointing at another problem. He tries to explain with a voice that's a little too loud and a little too hurried. The awkward tension that blankets them is thick, and it feels like anything else would push him to the brink of breaking.

Finally, Shirabu huffs a breath and stands straight. “You know what I think?” He unrolls Semi's source of humiliation, holding it up with one hand, and points at the top. 

“That I'm hopeless?” Semi answers. This time, he can't help the venom that oozes from the last word. 

Shirabu shakes his head, then does something strange. He inhales deeply, squeezing both eyes shut as if he's about to do something he'll regret immensely. Then, with a puff of air, he tears Semi's exam in half. The sound echoes in the empty classroom. 

The action causes Semi's brows to knit, and he watches the two torn sheets flutter onto the table, the two on one side and the three on the other. “What the hell?” he starts, “Don't you have to return that—”

“You're not hopeless,” Shirabu says, shaking his head. With an oddly determined glint in his eyes, he slides one half over to him. “Do you see the date?” 

Semi stares at him, then cranes his head forward to read the numbers. Nothing from that day comes to mind. “I don't get it.” 

His underclassman rolls his eyes, and stabs a finger at it again. “That was the day after our last match with Karasuno.”

Oh.

As if Shirabu can hear his thought, he continues, “We've been sitting here for half an hour, and you've done all right so far. I don't think you're hopeless. Maybe lazy, brash, unmotivated, careless, an idiot at times—”

“—I get it. You can stop now—”

“—but you're not stupid,” Shirabu finishes with a breath. 

“Satori would say otherwise,” Semi mumbles.

“Tendou-san is an even bigger idiot,” Shirabu says and waves a hand in dismissal. “But I'm pretty sure you had an off day, especially after losing the chance to go to nationals. You seem to know the material, though you've been making stupid mistakes from rushing. But I don't see you failing that badly on your next exam. If you just double-check your work, you should be fine.” With that, he sucks in a breath—it's a slight movement, but it's the most he's said all hour. 

Shirabu watches Semi with a sort of determination before it breaks down into self-consciousness as Semi continues to stare. He palms the back of his neck, and the base begins to flush pink. “I—”

Semi snorts. Snorts again. And again until he laughs, amusement bubbling warm from his chest. 

“You know, there are better ways to tell someone you care about them, right?” Semi teases. Shirabu flushes, and an almost-petulant expression crosses his face. He huffs, but there's a hint of a smile that plays at his lips. 

“Whatever,” Shirabu instructs, “get back to work. We have a lot to do.” 

Semi chuckles. “All right, all right.”

**Author's Note:**

> For the _Ukiyo: A Pretty Setters Zine_ w/ this lovely companion piece by [Megaluhdon](https://twitter.com/megaluhdon/status/1303841527366590470)! <3
> 
> I'm on [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/ostenreal) and [Tumblr](https://shrimpyboke.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
